Four Seasons
by States of Being
Summary: Song fic for Radiohead's High and Dry. Not your typical songfic, trust me. It's got a lot more depth. Sirius-shot! Rated for language.


There was the slight taste of summer air on the wind, just enough to reawaken his need to be free, to fly in the air and plunge at the ground in death-defying defeats – the need to fall in love only to break his own heart and go on living life like it was supposed to be lived. The reckless life, the life of a rebel, of Sirius Black. He readjusted the chinstrap on his helmet, sending a smirk towards Lily, whose arms were crossed in anger and satisfaction. She didn't like the idea of him taking off on his motorcycle again, but at least he was wearing a helmet this time. That was more than she could say for the past month.

James' arm circled around Lily's waist, steering her back towards the house. "C'mon, he's not going to kill himself. He's been riding that thing since we graduated."

She gave her fiancé a distasteful expression. "It's still an abominable contraption. My uncle had one years ago, when they were really popular with the Muggles. He got in a wreck, did I tell you that? Got in a wreck and cracked his head open, and then – "

"He had to live in the hospital for months while they assessed his brain damage?" James finished for her.

She pursed her lips together in annoyance. "Yes, he did. And that's what's going to happen to Sirius, you know it will."

James waved a dismissive hand as he held the door open for her, his other hand clasped firmly on the doorknob. "Give it a rest, Lil. Sirius, he - "

Lily stopped, hovering on the doorstep. "Don't you get it, James? That's exactly the kind of thing he'd _like_ to happen! He'd find it amusing, having people poking at his head all day and assessing his mental capabilities. And being the center of attention – he'd just _love_ having everyone worried about him. Everything's a party to him! In fact, you might venture to say that he could be suicidal, provided the funeral would have a disco ball!"

James snickered at her and pushed her through the doorway. "Relax. Sirius doesn't have a brain to damage, anyway."

two jumps in a week  
>i bet you think that's pretty clever<br>don't you boy?

They heard a horrendous roar as the engine kicked into gear and Sirius steered it upwards, shooting towards the thin sliver of moon peeking through the layer of rainclouds that had settled on Godric's Hollow. "I heard that, James Potter!" they heard him bellow from among the twinkling stars. James only shook his head and followed Lily into his house, clicking the door shut as Sirius disappeared through the clouds.

Once again, Sirius could taste the freedom that lingered on the air – just before it whipped past his face and escaped his reach. He didn't mind, though, as he was escaping gravity in much the same way. Escaping in the same flash of speed, the same burst of energy that came from his beloved bike and sent him surging forwards, rushing towards an unknown destiny. He closed his eyes as his ebony hair lashed across his face, cold from the wind and mist of the clouds, reveling in the free-falling he experienced as he pushed the handlebars down, plunging to the ground – only to pull up at the last second and rollercoast-ride back to the peaks of the clouds, soaring over the fog.

This was the freedom that he had longed for all winter long. Leaving the darkness that cold ushered in, only to live in the darkness that Mother Night welcomed with open arms. To soar among the stars and be that much closer to his namesake. There was no emotion to describe this feeling – only the need to experience it.

He dreaded to think of what might happen should he crash. But he didn't believe in such worries – they amounted to nothing in the end. If it were to happen to him, then so be it. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. If he were pre-destined to get hit by a train, it would happen. Whether it would crash through his living room or fall from the sky was another story.

He squeezed his thighs around the bike even tighter as he opened his eyes and revved up the engine to speed up, whisking past a flock of night-owls that had spotted their dinner in the forest below. He glanced downward, peering through the thin clouds at the green treetops, grinning as realized just how high he was. Steering the bike around in a circle, he came back to the edge of the woods, lowering himself enough to skim over the branches, grazing his feet over the wet leaves and hearing their crackling over the noise of his engine.

It was tradition for him, of course. A good luck charm, he sometimes called it. He remembered the first time he made James ride with him. It had been the August after they'd graduated – a celebratory ride, if he remembered correctly. James had just gotten his first paycheck and Lily was visiting her parents, and so what else was a best friend supposed to do? Clap him on the back and offer a beer? He might have, had they been of age. Somehow, butterbeer just didn't cut it. So he had hauled James over his shoulder, shoved him on the bike, and soared up into the late-afternoon sky. That was the first time Sirius grazed the trees, laughing in delight as James had yelled at him in disbelief and demanded to be put down.

"Are you sure you want down _right now_?" Sirius had called back to him.

James had merely grumbled something that Sirius couldn't pick up over the sounds of the leaves and engine, but Sirius imagined that had shut him up quite well.

And when they'd landed, James had laughed at him, clapped him on the back, and thanked him. And that was when Sirius realized that he was glad that James was different. James was the calm one, the family guy. And Sirius was the wild, unruly one. They kept each other in check, and that was what had made them best friends. Sometimes Sirius needed to be more. Sometimes he just needed to be . . . free. Famous for his feats. Unpredictable. But he always needed James to balance him out.

_flying on your motorcycle.  
>watching all the ground beneath you drop.<br>you'd kill yourself for recognition.  
>kill yourself to never ever stop.<em>

Sirius clung to the stone wall, clenching his eyes shut in agony as he fought back the tears that had been threatening him since dawn broke. The Dementors were delighting in this newly found memory, this last bit of shining hope that the broken man had left in his life. But it was painful. It was painful to remember his other half, the one that had given him life rather than living. He turned his clammy cheek against the cold stone, trying to awaken from the mental image, to rid him of the past.

Because that was what it was – the past, over and done with. It no longer existed, unless he felt the need to dredge up the painful memories from the dark recesses of his heart. The stone felt good against his skin, cooling his rising temperature and bringing his senses back to normal – just long enough to remember where he was, before drifting off again and hearing those voices. Those damn voices, the ones he had dreamed about so much; the ones that couldn't escape him. Even when the Dementors weren't there.

_God, James, why'd you leave me?_ he pleaded silently, shoving a fist against his mouth as the tears overflowed his eyes, spilling down his cheeks in tiny rivers. They cut paths through the dirt layered on his skin, dropping onto his patchy gray robes and leaving dark splotches. _You were my other half, James. Damn you! You shouldn't have left me . . ._

And then the Dementors wavered off, pleased that their subject was lying in a huddled heap on the floor, shaking convulsively. That job was done for the day.

_Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry  
>Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry.<em>

Remus was bustling about his kitchen, putting dishes and silverware in the drawers and cupboards as he extracted them from the sink, glancing at them to make sure they'd been washed thoroughly. He grimaced as he saw a few dark smudges left on one of the plates. He set it back in the sink and pulled out another, only to come across the same problem. He sighed, dropping it in the soapy water as well. "Sirius!" he called out. "Did you even bother to scrub these dishes?"

There was no answer.

He sighed again, leaving the kitchen and walking briskly towards his spare room, rather perturbed to find the door locked once more. He banged on the wood, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.

There was no answer.

Quickly moving past annoyed, Remus yanked his wand from his back pocket and touched it to the doorknob, muttering "_Alohomora!_" as he did so. There was a click, and then the turned the knob, forcing the door open a bit more harshly than he had intended. "Honestly, Sirius, I understand you're depressed, but you can't just dry up like a veget - " he started. And stopped.

Sirius was sprawled on the floor, his face buried among his arms as he lay perfectly still. Remus glanced about the rest of the room, searching for some sign of a fight, a message, anything. The only thing he noticed was the broken mirror that hung on the wall. Only the wooden frame was left – the glass was twinkling all around the floor, shattered into tiny pieces too sharp to touch. Sirius was lying on top of a few of them, pinpricks of blood glistening where his skin had touched the glass.

Remus cursed softly, rushing over to Sirius and grabbing him by the side. He turned the other man over, laying him on his back, and grimacing as he saw the old and tired face once more. Even a year and a half after escaping prison, Sirius still looked far too old for his age – too rundown and tired, too beaten and scared.

He touched his hand to the leathery skin of Sirius' face, feeling his neck for a pulse. He was dreading the worst, but was relieved to find a weak, but present, pulse beating through his best friend's veins. He glanced back at the shattered mirror and waved his wand towards the floor. "_Reparo!_" he muttered, not even bothering to watch as the tiny fragments floated back into the frame and rearranged themselves into a seamless sheet of glass. Instead, he looked back down at Sirius, lips pursed in concern. He smoothed the hair back from Sirius' face, leaning back on his heels as he regarded him thoughtfully. "_Enervate_," he whispered. Sirius stirred slightly, but did not awake.

Remus sighed, dragging a hand through his thin hair. "C'mon, just wake up!" he groaned.

And then Sirius' eyes opened, groaning at the sunlight that spilled in through the window above them. He looked to the side, his face expressionless. "Moony," he said quietly.

Remus nodded, smoothing the hair out of his friend's eyes. "You've got a fever now. Must be sick," he answered.

Sirius looked like he wanted to answer, but he couldn't. His lips were dry from dehydration, but Remus knew it didn't bother him. He knew the other man couldn't answer because he couldn't find the words, couldn't understand what he was feeling.

This wasn't the first time this had happened.

Remus knew that Sirius hated who he was – hated what Azkaban had done to him. Even his reflection was a frightening reminder of the last fifteen years. Remus glanced at the mirror once more, half-smiling to himself as he ticked another notch in his mind. That was fifteen times the mirror had been repaired now. Only the third time that Sirius had wasted so much energy on it that he passed out.

you broke another mirror.  
>you're turning into something you are not.<br>drying up in conversation,  
>you will be the one who cannot talk.<p>

The coffee tasted bitter. He wasn't surprised, though – it was supposed to taste that way. What was disturbing was the fact that he had already dumped liberal amounts of sugar and cream into the thick, black liquid, and still it did no good. It was cold, anyway. Sighing, he shoved the mug away from him and glanced down at the Daily Prophet lying on the table. "Sirius Black Still at Large," the front page read. He grimaced, wincing a bit at the bold letters. Below them was the old Azkaban picture again – the one with the shaggy black hair and lowered eyes. The skeletal face. _Padfoot manifested,_ he thought to himself. He almost smiled.

He looked up at the kitchen counter then, blinking as he saw Remus and Cailiosa together once more, arms circled around one another and attention drawn completely away from the world. His smile vanished as he watched them interact – saw her kiss his nose lightly, saw him laugh and tickle her ribs.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest, biting his lip hard as he shoved the tide of emotions back from the forefront of his mind. They were just like . . .just like . . . no. They couldn't be. They weren't the same people, after all. This was two decades later, this was another time, another place.

And then she let out a giggle that sounded so familiar. Too familiar; too much like someone he had once known in a time faraway, in that place between sleeping and awakening. He grimaced, burying his face in his hands as he heard them speaking, heard them sharing whispered words of conversation that echoed from nowhere.

It was happening all over again, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

_all your insides fall to pieces.  
>you just sit there,<br>wishing you could still make love._

He sniffed abruptly, lifting his head as he heard Cailiosa leave and the door shut behind her. Remus was busy at the stove, presumably fixing himself a decent lunch. Sirius focused once more on the paper lying on the table, narrowing his eyes as he skimmed over the article. _The highly-biased, falsified, vastly-dramatized article_, he sneered at it. With a sigh of exasperation, he shoved the parchment away from him, placing it with the coffee. Both had bad tastes in his mouth and both deserved to be nuked in a microwave for a few minutes.

He laid his forehead against his arms, hunched over at the table in his typical position. Remus had finished making his meal and was carrying it to the table when he saw him. He raised an eyebrow as he sat down, kicking Sirius' leg lightly with his own left foot. "What's eating you now, Gilbert Grape?" he asked.

Sirius glanced up, resting his chin on his overlapping wrists. "Nothing, Moony."

Remus snorted, rolling his eyes as he took a bite from his sandwich. "Nothing, my arse. You've got 'tragic kingdom' plastered all over your face."

Sirius rose an eyebrow. "No. That would be No Doubt's album. And that would be on your stereo, not on my face."

Remus half-grinned at him as he chewed. "Still got the humor. Can't beat it out of you, can we?"

Sirius growled quietly. "I've been beaten enough, thank you."

The half-grin faded quickly as Remus fell silent and immersed himself in the tiny-but-satisfying meal.

Sirius tossed a sideways glance at the paper, and was about to shove it off the table, when Remus chanced a glance at it at the same time. "What's that say?" he asked, reaching for it.

Sirius snatched it out of his grasp and held it tightly. "It's nothing."

"It's about you, isn't it?" Remus asked.

Sirius shrugged as he proceeded to rip the front page in two.

"Hey! I haven't read the rest of it yet, Sirius. It's about you, I know it is. Don't try hiding it." Sirius tossed the rest of the paper back on the table. Remus only looked at it. "I don't know why you insist on keeping that sort of thing from me. It's nothing new . . . you know I trust you. Don't you?"

Sirius answered without even considering the question. "Yes."

Remus held his sandwich just in front of his face, sneering to himself. "I wouldn't even bother reading it if I _did_ see it. Probably written by Rita Skeeter, that little hypocritical - "

Sirius shrugged and crumpled the front page in his fists. "It doesn't matter, Moony. I just want to forget anyone even thinks this sort of thing . . . I just want it to go away. I want to be innocent, but the rest of the world won't let me."

Remus blinked in confusion, setting his sandwich back on his plate. "You _are_ innocent, Sirius. Don't tell me you've begun to second-guess yourself. That would be absolutely ludicrous."

Sirius snorted in laughter, shaking his head as he leaned back against his chair, tilting it onto two legs. "No, Remus. I am innocent. But no one else knows it."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, glancing down at his half-empty plate. "There will always be people that will think that way, even if you are proved innocent."

Sirius answered him with a nod. "That's what I mean."

And Remus sighed, picking up his sandwich again. "But there's nothing you can do about it, either. It was your destiny, Sirius. Couldn't be fought then, and it can't be fought now."

"That's what I hate the most," he replied quietly. _Looks like the train came through my living room_, he thought idly.

_they're the ones who'll hate you  
>when you think you've got the world all sussed out.<br>they're the ones who'll spit at you.  
>you will be the one screaming out.<em>

It was a cold October. It just happened to be one of those years when summer gave way right into winter, skipping over the autumn season and the light-hearted winds that whispered the forthcoming of blizzards and snowdrifts. Of sledding and hot cocoa; of warm butterbeer in Hogsmeade. It was one of those years that Sirius hated the most, because he had no time to grieve over the lose of summer, the one season that gave him the exhilaration of freedom.

But he could still remember that one summer years and years ago, when Lily had demanded he wear a helmet and put a damper on the true freedom that he anticipated every year; when James had pushed her back in the house and cracked a joke as always; when Sirius had flown into the air and skimmed over trees and lost himself in the stars.

And now it was becoming winter. The season of cold, of death and decay. He sighed as he tucked his hands into his pockets and strolled down the stone path beside iron bars, keeping his gaze down against the bitterly cold wind. He counted the number of fallen leaves already strewn about the path, memories flickering in his mind of Quidditch pitches filled with brown and red and orange and gold, and he abruptly threw his face upwards, cringing at the blast of cold air that surged over his cheeks.

But he liked it. It reminded him of a motorcycle ride.

At last, he came to the gate. He stood still for a moment, staring up at the wrought iron fencing and wondering how he had come to be here. He smirked to himself, wondering why life was so amusing and ironic at times.

For that's what it was. A simple twist of ironic fate, some need for Mother Nature to amuse herself with the lives of innocents. Fate had brought him to everything he was and everything he would be from now on.

Fate had taken his other half, his calm support. His best friend. But he no longer cried – rather, he smiled. He had had the time now to remember that memories were good – that Dementors could no longer devour them. That the happy times were meant to be remembered, not forgotten as past occurrences that could never be revisited.

But there was still the aching absence in his heart. The gaping hole that left him weak at times. The wound that could never heal . . .

_Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry,  
>Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry.<em>

He took in a deep breath, forcing his feet to step forward and pass the threshold into the cemetery. He remembered the directions Moony had given him – "Turn right and walk about a hundred yards. Then go down the little dirt path on your left for another hundred yards and look to your right. It's not a big stone, but it's noticeable." He glanced around the graveyard for a moment, taking in his surroundings and sniffing the cold air, before turning to his right and starting to walk.

The air was still cold, but it seemed a bit more stagnant here, as though it were forever lingering in the same place, never moving and never leaving its home. Firmly rooted in one place, almost like the stones dotting the browning grass. He looked upwards, not surprised to see the tree branches were not moving.

He stopped walking, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. He glanced around once more, biting his lip in contemplation.

_There was a reason I came here, and I've got to go through with it!_ he reminded himself angrily. But another glance brought him turning back towards the gate and hurrying out of the yard, rushing back to the stone walkway outside the iron fence.

I can't. It's just not for me . . . I'm sorry, James, I'm sorry. I can't do it. I can't ever do it. It's something that you would have done, something that you would have been comfortable with.

But the fact remained that he was not. He couldn't be free there – couldn't let his heart soar untouched. It was not what he wanted, not what he needed. It served him nothing other than remembering the way things used to be. And he had plenty of memories left for that. So many that he sometimes thought they were still happening – that he would wake up in Hogwarts and James would have put a toad in his bed again.

No, he didn't need to remember that those times were gone forever.

_it's the best thing that you ever had  
>best thing that you ever, ever had.<br>it's the best thing that you ever had  
>best thing you've had is gone away.<em>

He pulled his collar up against the bitter wind, glancing towards the gray sky and shivering in the October air. It was going to rain soon and he needed to get home. But he smiled to himself as he heard an engine starting somewhere down the street.

_Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry.  
>Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry.<em>


End file.
